to the 〃Red Lion〃; half with the intention of hearing more。
She was the widow of a Polish doctor; he gathered。 Her
husband had died; a refugee; in London。 She spoke a bit
foreign…like; but you could easily make out what she said。 She
had one little girl named Anna。 Lensky was the womans name;
Mrs。 Lensky。
Brangwen felt that here was the unreality established at
last。 He felt also a curious certainty about her; as if she were
destined to him。 It was to him a profound satisfaction that she
was a foreigner。
A swift change had taken place on the earth for him; as if a
new creation were fulfilled; in which he had real existence。
Things had all been stark; unreal; barren; mere nullities
before。 Now they were actualities that he could handle。
He dared scarcely think of the woman。 He was afraid。 Only all
the time he was aware of her presence not far off; he lived in
her。 But he dared not knoself with her
by thinking of her。
One day he met her walking along the road with her little
girl。 It was a child with a face like a bud of apple…blossom;
and glistening fair hair like thistle…down sticking out in
straight; wild; flamy pieces; and very dark eyes。 The child
clung jealously to her mothers side when he looked at her;
staring with resentful black eyes。 But the mother glanced at him
again; almost vacantly。 And the very vacancy of her look
inflamed him。 She had wide grey…brown eyes with very dark;
fathomless pupils。 He felt the fine flame running under his
skin; as if all his veins had caught fire on the surface。 And he
went on walking without knowledge。
It was ing; he knew; his fate。 The world was submitting to
its transformation。 He made no move: it would e; what would
e。
When his sister Effie came to the Marsh for a week; he went
with her for once to church。 In the tiny place; with its mere
dozen pews; he sat not far from the stranger。 There was a
fineness about her; a poignancy about the way she sat and held
her head lifted。 She was strange; from far off; yet so intimate。
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